Deliciously Sinful (21 page)

“Hi, Jesse.”

Her niece’s voice sounded strained. “Um…”

“What?” Phoebe’s heart stopped for a minute. “Is Nick okay?”

“I think so.”

“Then what’s up?”

“I just got a call from some guy in Hollywood. He was looking for Nick, said he couldn’t reach him on his cell.”

Phoebe’s blood went cold as she turned the key in the ignition. “Is that all he said?”

“No, he was also wondering if we knew what time Nick had left here. Apparently they want him at some party tonight.” Jesse’s tone of voice sounded defeated and let down.

“Listen, Jesse. I’m sure this is all one big mistake. Nick wouldn’t just up and leave us. We’ll figure it out.”

“I hope you’re right, Pheebs.”

Me, too
, she thought as she peeled out of the driveway.

F
or the millionth time, Nick glanced at his phone. Still no fucking cell service. He’d been driving three hours. He’d been trying to reach the café the entire time, but as soon as he’d left Redbolt, his service had dropped. And in his haste to leave, he’d forgotten his phone charger.

“Fuck.” Now the battery had died, leaving him no access to any of his phone numbers. “Damn it.” He tossed his phone onto the seat next to him. His palms were so sweaty he could barely keep a grip on the steering wheel. He’d have to find a pay phone somewhere and look up the number of the café.

Yeah, the café you just up and abandoned?

What the fuck are you doing, Avalon?

Exactly what he needed to be doing. Exactly what he’d wanted to do since the second he’d left Los Angeles. He was going back.

Or was he running away?

He couldn’t help it. He kept recalling that hurt look of betrayal in Phoebe’s eyes when she’d stared up at him from the crowd during the cook-off. He’d been so happy to have won. He’d hoped his attempt would show that he did care about her winning, and about the café.

But she’d taken it all the wrong way. He could see it in her face. She hadn’t changed her mind. She thought he was a selfish prick. That hadn’t changed.

And he’d allowed it. It had made his plans to leave so much easier.

And that’s what felt like a knife stabbing him in the gut.

He’d let himself think, just for a second, that she saw something in him no one else had. She’d made him feel like more than some shallow status-oriented stair-climber out for nothing more than his own pleasure.

She’d made him want more from life.

Sometime during the last few months in Redbolt, he’d found he wanted so much more than to cater to the whims of the current Hollywood celebs. Nothing came close to the satisfaction he’d begun to feel at taking something Phoebe had grown in her own garden and turning it into a meal that he could share with the community. Friends. People he actually
liked
.

He’d begun to feel like they were a team.

He punched the steering wheel. How could he be so stupid? How could he so quickly forget what he really wanted? He’d let himself be fooled. He’d let himself feel. He’d let himself love.

But Phoebe’s opinion of him had never changed.

Timing was a crazy thing, but just that morning, a call had come in that made it pretty fucking obvious what he was supposed to do. Some studio exec and his cronies were opening up a new restaurant, and the buzz was that it would be the next hot spot in Beverly Hills. They’d called Nick to see if he was interested in interviewing for the position of chef.

Yes, he was.

But he knew how these things worked. If you didn’t pounce on an opportunity, someone else would. This was a cutthroat business, which was why he’d done so well so far.

As soon as he’d hung up the phone that morning, he’d jumped into his Hummer and started driving. He hadn’t even thought about it. He’d simply gone. For about thirty minutes, he hadn’t looked back.

But now it was hitting him. Even if the experience yesterday had left a foul taste in his mouth, it was still irresponsible to up and ditch the café.

And he couldn’t help it. Even if it was all bullshit, he’d come to actually like the Green Leaf. He’d become very fond of the people he’d worked with—especially Jesse—and the patrons were becoming more like friends. He’d even started to not hate the mismatched decor and rustic tables and chairs.

But. The experience yesterday had been like a sucker punch back to reality. That wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was to go home. To Hollywood.

Still, he should have let them know what was going on.

To his surprise, he was scared to. He didn’t like the idea of letting them down; in fact, it made his teeth clench. But he dismissed it. Obviously, they expected nothing else from him. So what did he care? They wouldn’t be surprised. Not one bit.

He glanced at his phone. If he had cell service, he’d call Phoebe.

But it was dead. The battery had run down searching for a signal. So no calling Phoebe.

He could only imagine what she was doing right then.

Hating him.

But that was okay, because he was Nick the Prick. Selfish, driven, focused. Nothing else mattered except achieving his own goals.

So why was his gut churning with guilt? Why did he have the incredible urge to flip a U-turn and drive right back to Redbolt?

Why did he even care?

Six months ago, he wouldn’t have cared one bit. Six months ago, he probably wouldn’t have even bothered to call Phoebe. He would have just disappeared.

What had changed?

He’d gotten soft; that was it. All that time in hippieland had made his head turn into mush.

Nick pushed his foot down on the gas pedal. This was what he wanted; this was what he needed. He’d gotten so used to the low-key café that he’d forgotten the adrenaline rush of working in a real kitchen.

He’d forgotten what he’d worked for his entire life. And now he had the opportunity to get back on track, and he was feeling guilty about it?

Fuck that. He wanted this job. He wanted his life back.

He didn’t go to culinary school in Paris to make bowl after bowl of vegetarian pasta salad. Although Phoebe’s tomatoes were, by far, the best he’d ever tasted.

He hit the steering wheel.
Don’t think about Phoebe’s tomatoes. Or her. Or oranges. Or chocolate or oysters or whisks…

Or her eyes, or her smile, or her wit.

Don’t think about it. Just drive.

He turned on his iPod and blasted some electronic music. The first song had a strong, pounding beat that made the entire car vibrate and thump. Yes. This was one of his favorite songs. He hadn’t listened to it in… months.

Yes. He needed his old life back. He could be at a club that night. Surrounded by beautiful women who didn’t make him think. Who demanded nothing. Who wouldn’t ever argue with him.

Yeah, he could probably have that tonight if he wanted it. He did want it. He really did.

“I can’t believe him.” Phoebe pulled her hair into a ponytail and yanked on an apron. “I really can’t believe him.”

Jesse looked up from the pile of onions she was currently slicing. Phoebe couldn’t help but notice she was becoming incredibly efficient with her chopping skills.

“Maybe something’s wrong. Just because we got that call doesn’t mean he left for L.A. I’m worried.”

A bitter laugh escaped Phoebe’s mouth. “Don’t give him that much credit. Lester at the gas station saw his Hummer speeding by on the freeway. And Nick was headed south at quite the clip, according to Lester.”

“What are you saying? That Nick just up and went to L.A. without telling us?”

“That is exactly what I’m saying. I knew I never should have trusted him.”

Jesse shook her head. “We don’t know that yet.”

“Oh, I know all right. I know exactly what that man is capable of.”

Jesse’s eyes were sad. “I’m sorry, Phoebe.”

“Don’t be. We don’t need him.” Phoebe glanced at the fixed-price menu for that evening. Because Saturday night had become so popular, they’d started doing the set menu on Friday as well.

“Oh, hell.” Phoebe read over the menu. “I can’t cook any of these things.”

“Let me see.” Jesse took the menu and gave it a quick scan. “Hmm. I don’t see anything on here that looks too difficult.”

“Really? Really?” Phoebe realized her voice was starting to sound hysterical. But she couldn’t help it. “We’re booked solid with reservations, people are expecting the fixed-price menu, and we don’t have a chef. I’d say everything right now looks pretty damn difficult!”

Jesse came over and put a calming hand on her shoulder. “Seriously, Phoebe. You haven’t been at the café as much lately.”

“Great. Now you’re going to make me feel guilty?”

“No,” Jesse said firmly. “You finally learned how to delegate.”

“Yeah, and look how well that turned out for me.”

Jesse’s grip on Phoebe’s arm tightened. “Phoebe. Calm down.”

“But—”

Jesse gave her aunt another squeeze. “Seriously. We—
I
can do this.”

Phoebe paused and looked at her niece. “How?”

“Listen. Nick’s been giving me cooking lessons. I’ve learned a lot from him. And…”

Phoebe saw two light red patches stain her niece’s cheeks. What was going on here?

“And what, Jesse?”

“I’ve been practicing a lot at home. When you and Dad aren’t around.”

“What? Why have you been hiding this from us?”

Jesse’s cheeks turned the color of two ripe tomatoes. “Because I’ve been cooking meat. Lots of it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And I feel guilty. You know, about Dad.”

“But we’ve already discussed that. He would never tell you how to live your life.”

“I know, but… I still feel bad.”

Phoebe rested her backside against the counter. “Wow. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own life, I didn’t even know I had a secret chef living under the same roof.”

“Please don’t tell my dad.”

“I won’t. You know that.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Phoebe couldn’t help but smile at her niece. “When did you get so grown up?”

“I don’t know. Did I?”

“I think so.”

Jesse shrugged sheepishly. “I just like cooking. That’s all.”

“Well, I hope you like it as much as you think you do.”

“Why do you say that?”

Phoebe glanced at the menu in Jesse’s hand. “Because you’re the head chef tonight. Now let’s get going. You just tell me what to do.”

Jesse’s smile was blinding. “Okay. We’ll start with the truffle oil sauce…”

An hour later, Phoebe found herself in the storage room. She’d gone in looking for…what had she been looking for?

Looking around the room, her heart hurt. Nick’s presence was everywhere. She saw him perched on the crate, lighting a cigarette. She saw him leading her around with a whisk in his hand. It was overwhelming to be in that room and know he’d abandoned her the way he had.

She’d been feeding off her anger all afternoon. It was better than the other emotions bubbling inside her.

Betrayal. She felt utterly betrayed by him. She couldn’t believe she’d allowed herself to trust him. To rely on him. To like him.

To love him.

It hurt. It hurt so much, right in her heart.

How could he do this to her? Did she mean nothing to him? Nothing at all?

Obviously, that was exactly what she meant to him. He didn’t care about her, her feelings, or about anything except himself.

She wouldn’t cry. She did not want to cry.

Fuck. She was crying.

She hadn’t cried since her aunt and uncle had died. But now big, stinging tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over. She couldn’t stop them.

She was shaking, and her legs were threatening to give out. She leaned back against the storage room door. The very door Nick had held her against as he’d used her.

Because that’s exactly what he’d done.
Used
her, in every possible sense of the word. Used her business, used her heart. Used her body.

And now, he was done.

If only it would be that easy for her to be done with him.

Sinking to the ground, she let the tears escape. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she let her head fall to her knees. She cried. She felt her heart actually ache. She nearly let the sadness take over.

But she didn’t. She had a job to do. She had a business to run. Two of them. And she didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity because she’d been stupid enough to fall for Nick the Prick Avalon.

It was her own damn fault.

She pushed herself up and wiped off her face. So this was what it felt like to have your heart broken. Suddenly all those stupid songs about love and heartbreak made perfect sense.

W
hat the fuck are you doing?”

Nick glanced at Sherry, who was sitting on a plush leather sofa beside him. They were at one of Hollywood’s most trendy bars, and Nick was sipping a glass of fine tequila.

The entire place was filled with beautiful women. Trancelike ambience music played from a sound system, and the modern decor was trendy and hip.

He’d gotten the job.

Life was good.

Or at least that’s what he kept telling himself.

“What are you blathering about now, Sherry?”

“You and your stupidity.” She sipped daintily at a glass of red wine.

“Are you referring to wearing the wrong shoes with the wrong belt again?”

“Don’t be an ass. I swear, I am on the edge with you right now.”

“The edge of what?”

“Liking you.”

He shrugged. “Do what you want, Sherry. I can’t control how you feel.”

“Did you really just up and ditch Phoebe?”

“I left a message on her cell phone.”

“A message. And what did this message say?”

“That I had an emergency in L.A., and I needed to come down here ASAP.” He drained his tequila.

“So you just up and vanished on her?”

“Hey.” His voice was harder than he intended. “I did what I had to do. I got the most coveted restaurant job in this town. We should be celebrating, and you’re giving me shit. Not cool.”

“No. What’s not cool is your behavior.” She shook her head, and he saw pity in her eyes.

It made his gut twist. He could handle anything except someone’s pity.

“Don’t judge me,” he said. “And don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m sorry, Nick. I guess I just thought better of you.”

“Well, I would have thought you’d know what a mistake that could be. You know what they say, Expect the worst and you won’t be disappointed.”

She emptied what was left of her wine and stood. “The only people who say stupid shit like that are idiots who want an excuse to fail.”

Leaning forward, Nick placed his elbows on his knees. “Fail? Fail? What don’t you understand here? I never wanted to leave Los Angeles. I never wanted to cook in some ass-backward hippie town. I want my old life back.”

“Yeah. Well, it looks like now you have it back. Have fun with it. Expect the worst while you’re at it. Then you won’t be disappointed.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, sinking back into the sofa. What didn’t Sherry get about this?

He watched as a tall man in an Armani suit attempted to pick up Sherry. She smiled sweetly at him, and Nick saw her mouth the word
no
. The guy kept trying, and again she said
no
. Finally he went away.

She came back carrying a tequila for Nick and a glass of cabernet for herself. After placing the drinks on the round table in front of them, she took her place on the sofa.

“You’re judging me?” Nick asked.

“No. I’m calling you on your shit.”

He laughed. “What about you? You’re done with your hippie boy and you just left him?” He sarcastically shook his head. “Sounds like you ditched him. How very not cool you are.”

Her smile was sickly sweet. “As usual, you’re totally wrong.”

“Pray tell.”

“Steve is moving here.”

Nick froze. “What?”

“Yup. But it’s a secret at the moment. He’s waiting for the right time to tell Jesse.”

“Wait. So you got Steve to move to L.A.?”

“It wasn’t hard. Frankly, I think he’s been wanting out of that town for a while. And he can still visit all he wants. I’ll be traveling up there a lot for work, anyway.”

“But I’d think he would hate this town.”

She shrugged. “We had a blast when he was down here. He especially loved Venice Beach. He and my son really hit it off. I think Redbolt has too many memories for him. He seemed like an entirely different person when he was away.”

“So you like this guy?”

As if he had to ask. She was positively glowing. “I do. Yes, very much. So, you’re wrong. I didn’t ditch anyone. That’s more your style.”

“For fuck’s sake, Sherry. Give it a rest, will you?”

She just shrugged in a know-it-all way that was highly irritating.

One thing. He’d wanted one thing ever since that day he’d been fired six months ago. And now he’d achieved it, and for some reason, Sherry was giving him all kinds of shit about it.

He didn’t care. He’d lived his entire life not caring what anyone thought. Nick Avalon looked out for himself. That was something he’d never made any qualms about hiding. Hell, how many times had Phoebe herself said as much to him? How many times had she called him a self-absorbed, thoughtless prick?

Yeah, earlier it had bugged him that he was proving her right. But then he realized he didn’t care. Let her be right. He hadn’t changed in the four months he’d been away from Los Angeles.

This was where he belonged. It was home. This was his life. Everyone else could fuck off.

Across the room, a familiar-looking blonde smiled at him. Maybe he’d fucked her; he couldn’t recall. He smiled back.

He beckoned a waitress for another tequila. His gaze roamed the room and landed back on the blonde.

Yup. He finally had it back. He had all he needed. City life, decent music, beautiful women who didn’t argue with him all day long.

It was good to be home.

And that’s what he was going to keep telling himself.

Fourteen days later, Nick was in the kitchen of his new restaurant. Things were going swimmingly. His staff was already intimidated by his surly demeanor. He’d planned an amazing menu. The kitchen was a top chef’s dream.

They were opening that night.

The entire place buzzed with anticipation and energy. This was exactly what Nick got off on. High-stress, fast-paced—and he was the leader. The manager knew enough to back the fuck away and let him do his job.

Everything was perfect.

Waitstaff scurried around him, preparing for the first customers. And they weren’t a bunch of hippie teenagers. He’d forgotten that out here, a server at a high-end trendy restaurant needed to actually know what they were doing. They needed to be savvy on things like gourmet food and wine. A job at a place like this was hard to come by, and most of the staff were actors, which translated into career waiters. Unlike some places that he refused to think about, here the industry was taken seriously.

Nick looked around the restaurant and crossed his arms over his chest. He was in his element. He had regained what he’d lost.

And everything inside him felt empty.

Yes. He’d pulled off what he’d set out to do. He’d burned bridges, hurt people, and been exactly what Phoebe had always called him: a fucking prick.

He was back.

But back where? He’d thought he was coming home. But everything here felt wrong. He realized that he missed sitting on the porch of the cabin, sipping tequila and listening to the crickets. He missed teaching Jesse how to cook. He had to admit that he missed the challenge of creating a menu out of whatever random produce Phoebe tossed at him.

And, most of all, he missed Phoebe. He missed her so much his chest felt like it had a boa constrictor in it. Squeezing and squeezing him until he thought his ribs were going to implode.

He couldn’t even look at another woman; the thought of touching anyone but her made him feel sick. Even that blonde from the other night. Everything about her had been wrong. Wrong hair, wrong eyes, wrong skin. But, obviously, Phoebe was never going to change her opinion about him. She was never going to actually
like
him.

Unless you change her mind.

Yeah, right. Even
if
he wanted to, how was he supposed to do that now?

He’d already totally fucked that up.

Nick looked around the busy restaurant. Sometimes things just felt wrong, even though you knew they should feel right. Sometimes you started out making an omelet but had to settle for scrambled eggs because you fucked up.

He was living in a big old mess of overcooked scrambled eggs.

“Fuck.” He threw his white hat to the sous-chef. “Have at it.”

Manuel, who’d been second in line for Nick’s job, just stared at him. “What are you doing, man?”

Nick was already headed for the door. Over his shoulder, he said, “Making a fucking omelet.”